


Pieces of the People We Love (Loathe)

by RealityPhobia, Serendipital



Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Body Horror, Gen, Jack is a talking head, Rhys has a crush on everyone, Strangulation, Tales from the Boo-rderlands, monster au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-10 08:46:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5579004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RealityPhobia/pseuds/RealityPhobia, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serendipital/pseuds/Serendipital
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhys was made out of dead people, but it didn't feel like a problem until one of the dead people took issue with it. His name was Jack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lend Me a Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Monster High Fusion, but you don't need to know anything about it except that there are a lot of puns. We're mostly using it as a setting (no important characters or anything), because there are some pretty awful implications there. Inspired by an endearingly mediocre movie about a girl that is dismembered during high school roller derby and is made into a roller derby trophy. It reminded us of Borderlands, so we decided to write a fanfic. It has nothing to do with roller derby, and everything to do with murder by dismemberment. 
> 
> It’s Jack though, so it’s okay.

At two months old, Rhys had already lost that new kid shine. He rested his chin on his palm, staring from underneath his eyelids as Mr. Rotter engaged the class in miscellaneous groaning noises. Picking at the stitches in his left elbow, he stole a subtle glance at the iCoffin hidden beneath his desk. Vaughn was taking longer than usual to respond. Maybe those stone fingers of his had finally cracked the screen.

_Wednesday then?_

Finally! Rhys glanced up at Mr. Rotter, who was wrapped up in his groaning. He brought his hands beneath the desk and tapped out a reply.

_BRO. Bro. Yes. So much yes. I am THERE, bro._

_Bro, that’s too many bros._

_Never too many bros, bro._

Rhys smiled. Vaughn was great. Had been ever since he’d met him two months ago, on his first day of school, and life. Truly the broest bro.

 _I think I’m going to be sick._ That would be Yvette.

 _You’re just jealous of our bro-ly love._ Rhys looked up, and across the classroom Yvette pointed a finger at her mouth, gagging. Her hair snakes also gagged. Rhys rolled his eyes and blew her a kiss, which she smacked out of the air. He held a hand over his heart, pouting.

_Be serious for once. This has to go off without a hitch or we’ll all get it._

_Relaaax. We’ll be fine! We’ve got you, right?_

_Only if you’re still buying me lunch._

_Done._ Vaughn, the buyer of lunches and briber of Yvettes.

Rhys was typing out a reply when his right arm went numb and flopped over, unresponsive. His chin slammed into the desk. For a moment, his arm was nothing--no feeling, no pins-and-needles, not even a sense of _there_ ness--but then it was back like nothing had happened. Rubbing his chin, Rhys rotated his wrist around, staring at it curiously.

“Do you find that the prestigious oral history of zombies lulls you to sleep, Mr. Sommerstitch?”

Rhys looked up. Mr. Rotter and the entire class were looking at him. Whoops. “Uh.”

Mr. Rotter raised an eyebrow.

“No, uh, sir. Just--uh. Still a pretty new body, you know? Goes weird sometimes. All the...stitches and bolts, probably. Yeah.”

“Well,” Mr. Rotter said, suspicious, “if you have trouble keeping yourself together, then perhaps you should see the nurse. Or refrain from playing video games into the dead of night.”

Rhys laughed nervously. “I’ll, uh. I’ll keep that in mind, sir.” Mr. Rotter was the actual worst, but he couldn’t afford to let his grades slip.

Once he was sure the phantom was fully facing the board, he glanced back at his iCoffin.

_Nice, man. But are you okay? Didn’t think we were that boring._

_Try not to be so obvious when we’re getting the beer._

_Nah, I’m fine. And guys, I wasn’t sewn together yesterday. We’ve got this one in the bag._

_With the money we’re paying for those two smuggler ghouls, I hope so._

_You mean the money I’M paying._ Vaughn threw an indignant look at Yvette, which she promptly ignored.

Rhys had his comments about Yvette’s mooching ways half typed-out on his iCoffin when the bell rang for lunch. Ah, well. She already knew anyway.

 

“So then Vasquez is all like ‘I’m a huge asshole and I want to ruin your life’ and _I_ was like--”

“Bro, the hateboner he has for you gets worse and worse every day.”

A hand landed on Rhys’ shoulder. “Did somebody say _boner?_ ” That deep voice, that smarmy tone... _Vasquez._

“Oh my god,” Yvette said, quietly.

“It’s just that I couldn’t help but _overhear_ your _conversation._ ” He squeezed Rhys’s shoulder with one of his clammy hands before sliding his lunch tray onto the table, plopping his fishy ass on the bench beside him. Eurgh. “And I feel that I should remind you that _boner-_ talk is strictly prohibited on school grounds.”

“Oh my _god,_ ” Yvette said again, not as quietly. Vasquez didn’t seem to notice.

“Vasquez,” Rhys said. “Nice to see your hair implants are just as greasy as usual.”

“I’m not sure what you’re implying, Rhys.” It was hard to tell with the fish slime, but Rhys thought he might be starting to sweat. “You know perfectly well I come by it honestly.”

“Yeah,” Vaughn said. “One-eighth werewolf on your mother’s side. I’ve been trying to keep track of how many times you’ve mentioned it, but I ran out of space on my calculator a while ago. Heh.” It was the story Vasquez had told everyone when he’d suddenly come into “werewolf puberty” a few weeks ago. It was also totally bogus.

Vasquez leaned across the table into Vaughn’s space, a tight smile on his face. “Oh, that’s cute, Vaughn, that’s real cute. Why don’t you run along while the big kids do the talking.”

“What do you want, Vasquez?” Rhys cut in. He couldn’t help but feel a little pleased that he was considered a “big kid”. He was moving up in the world.

“Want? I don’t _want_ anything. Just doing my part for our lovely school. Because I care about our student body. And the safety of our students is my first priority.” Rhys wondered at his suddenly slightly-less-dickish-than-usual tone when he saw August rolling by their table in his wheelchair, fins brushing the sticky floor. August’s mom was headmistress, the first octopus lady to ever hold the position. Rumor had it she’d murdered the last one. Vaughn put the probability at about 99.91%.

Vasquez gave the merman a smile.

August made a face. “You thinking that I’ve got any say in the elections just proves you don’t got any idea how this works.” Funny how a two-month-old had a better grasp of politics than Vasquez. Rhys had this election in the bag.

“Well,” Vasquez went to put his hand on August’s shoulder. August grabbed his hand and squeezed. Vasquez looked like he was going to cry, but persevered. “My...my man--” He broke off, whimpering. Rhys thought he heard a crack. “We’ll talk about it later,” he choked out. He tried to yank his hand away, but August held on to make a point before releasing him, letting him topple off the bench. His foot clipped Rhys on the way down, but the face he made as he jumped up and power-walked for the door just about made up for it.

“Anyway,” August said, “I came over to you bozos for a reason.” He looked away, grimacing, before glaring at them. “So what were you three doin’ with Sasha, huh? In the hallway? You were acting pretty chummy. Bit concerning for the guy who’s her boyfriend.”

“Ex-boyfriend.”

It was beginning to get crowded at their little lunch table. “Hey, Sasha. We were just talking about you,” Rhys said, smiling wide.

The werewolf frowned, crossing her arms. Her ears pressed flat against her head, and her mouth had a snarl to it, showing her fangs. “I noticed. Beat it, August.”

“Yeah, beat it,” Rhys said enthusiastically. Sasha gave him a look. He toned down the enthusiasm. “But, uh. You should probably actually leave.”

“Forgot about when my kid sister broke up with you? I mean, I can understand why. Must’ve been pretty traumatic. You almost looked like you had real feelings.” Fiona came up from behind Sasha, grinning mockingly. It was obvious she didn’t like August. Must’ve been because he was a raging asshole.

“Hey, Fiona,” Rhys croaked out. She scared him. Ever since he’d started crushing on Sasha, she’d kept a supernaturally close eye on him. She was made of metal and steam power--a dangerous combination. Averting his eyes, he stuck his fork into his mystery meatloaf and brought it to his mouth. The fork slipped out of his hand.

It fell back to the plate, his fingers twitching erratically. He couldn’t feel them, like they’d never been in his blueprint, like they’d never even existed. It was that same numbness from before, creeping from his fingertips to the seam at his shoulder. A total loss of sensation.

The feeling was gone as quickly as it came, and Rhys massaged his hand, frowning down at it. That was the second time today.

“I said no hard feelings, right?” August choked out a laugh, clenching his teeth and jerking his head to the side. The movement attracted Rhys’s attention. “So. No hard feelings. Really.”

“Uh-huh,” Fiona said, “Well, like she said. Beat it.” She made a sweeping gesture, drawing attention to the crowd of students watching from the safety of their own lunch tables.

August gave a final glare, eyebrows drawn low. “I’ll see you later, Sasha.” He turned and rolled away. If he made a scene in the creepateria, Headmistress Vallory would hear about it. And August, of all people, would not want to attract his mom’s attention.

“Well, now that _that’s_ over, down to business,” Fiona said, setting herself on the seat Vasquez had vacated earlier. Her coat was only barely able to soften the clank of the metal bench against her legs. Sasha sat down beside her. “And by business I mean booze.”

Vaughn shushed her, looking around nervously. “What if someone hears you? This isn’t exactly _legal_ , you know.”

“I mean, that’s why you called us.” Sasha pointed a thumb at her chest, grinning. “Best smugglers in the business. This is a bit more risky than usual, though. Which is why you’re paying extra.”

Vaughn gave a heavy sigh. Probably imagining his near-empty wallet. Vaughn was already bribing Yvette with goremet cafeteria lunches, and feeding Yvette meant feeding her snakes too. The plan probably put him over the limit. Rhys would chip in, but nah. He could handle it. He was the money man; it was his thing. And Rhys only had two months of allowance to his name.

“It’ll be worth it,” Yvette assured him, patting him on the shoulder. “Human beer is supposed to be great. Way better than the swamp water stuff we have here.” Vaughn nodded sadly, daring to hope.

“Now,” Rhys started, spreading his arms. “To get across the border, we’re going to need to get a box, and a stamp, and some packing tape. And a screwdriver. So we’ll drill holes in the box, and then someone will go inside that box, and we’ll say it’s for our aunt, who’s dying and really needs this awesome chair--”

“Yeah, I was thinking we’d just use the catacombs under the school,” Fiona said. “There’s an old passage to the human side of town that Sasha and I use.”

“I’d give you an A for effort, but that was honestly the worst idea I’ve ever heard. And I dated August.”

“W-well. My plan would have worked. It just might’ve taken a little longer.” He paused. “But in a cool way. Like an action movie.” He looked to Vaughn for support.

“Yeah, no, bro. Your plan would get us killed in a heartbeat.” Oof, that hurt. Let down by the gargoyle he trusted most. “Did you forget about the centuries of hatred between humans and monsters?”

“Oh right, that.”

“Yeah, _that,_ ” Yvette said. “I know you’re still new to all this existence and everything, but you should have gotten the basics down by now."

“Well, it’s kind of hard, okay? Like, have you ever tried to learn centuries of history and culture and basic motor functions and how to eat without spilling everything all over yourself all at once?”

The bell rang, almost at the same pitch as his whining.

“As fun as this is,” Fiona interjected, “I mostly came over to say that you should be there at eleven on the dot. We’ll have the IDs and hats, and you just bring your lovely selves. Sound good?” Everyone gave some sort of nod. “Alright, peace!” And she was gone. Sasha smiled ruefully and waved before following, leaving them to clean up their lunch in peace.

 

Mad Science was the most interesting class at Monster High--there was a lecture at the beginning to take notes in, and a lab portion at the end to carry his partner’s grade in. There was something about screwing with the natural order of things that appealed to Rhys. His very existence went against the natural order, after all.

Rhys was ambidextrous, which came in handy for the class’s cramped seating. No matter which side of the desk he sat on, he always had enough elbow room. As it was, he was already ahead of today’s lecture, so he took the extra time to toss his pencil between his hands, writing a word or two before tossing it back again. Rhys was, if nothing else, a huge show-off. There were so many cute people in this class--it paid to make a good impression.

He tossed the pencil to his right hand, giving it a tall arc and an impressive spin, winking at the alien transfer, Zer0, who didn’t seem to notice. As usual. Which was probably for the best, as his arm went numb, missed the pencil, and smacked him in the face. Ow.

The fingers flexed against his skin, grabbing his nose and pressing at his eyes, as if the arm had a mind of its own. He made a small, panicked noise before he pushed it off with his working, _loyal_ hand. It fell onto the desk with a thud, but he didn’t feel a thing. Holy shit. Holy _shit._ This was beyond what his dad had told him would be a normal adjustment for his body, sewn together from discarded human remains, overwriting the old muscle memory with his own.

His hand moved again.

Rhys almost leapt out of his seat, but Mr. Hackington was turned towards the class, and the _hack_ in his name didn’t bode well if Rhys made a scene. He let out a low, drawn-out whine before glancing back at what his arm was doing, _without him,_ holding his spare pencil in his (its?) hand--when had it grabbed a pencil _he hadn’t grabbed a pencil--_ and erratically making marks on the desk until it hit his notes. And started writing.

He quickly raised his left hand. “Uh, Mr. Hackington? I need to--to go now, to the bathroom. Please.” His voice was tight with panic. He left before he heard a reply, violently shoving everything into his bag with his left hand. There was no time to sling it over his shoulder, he just held it in his arm (and it should be _arms,_ but he couldn’t call them both _his_ now) as he fled into the hallway.

He rushed to the bathroom, his right arm grabbing violently at anything it could reach--his shirt, his other arm, the air. The hand dragged its nails along Rhys’s skin, blindly groping, and when it found his throat, the hand wrapped around it and tightened like a vice. It was impossible to think, air stuck in his throat, trapped between the fingers. He scrabbled at the hand with his left hand, the one that was still his, trying to force the fingers to uncurl. If the grip tightened, it would snap his neck, leaving him helpless on the floor of the men’s bathroom. Twisting violently, he tried to get just enough slack to break free and slammed his head against the paper towel dispenser. Pain exploded in his temple and he doubled over, compressing the spot with his hand. His right hand.

He looked at it dumbly, an ache throbbing in his head and his throat. Was it...over? He held the arm out suspiciously and flexed the fingers. They were sore and cramping, but they were his again. Cautiously, he brought them closer and touched the fingers with his left hand. No response. He massaged the cramps out, ignoring the way his hands shook.

“What the fuck,” he whispered quietly, after some reflexive breaths. His hand seemed to be behaving now, but he wasn’t quite sure he trusted it. Building a person could have all sorts of complications, but somehow almost being strangled by his own arm hadn’t come up in the reading material his dad had given him.

He shut his eyes and ran his hands through his hair, tangling his fingers in the strands and pulling slightly, grounding himself. He needed to tell someone. He needed his friends. He opened his eyes and reached for his bag, only to find that it had fallen off his shoulder in the struggle, scattering papers and notebooks and pencils across the floor. With a sigh, he knelt, gathering everything into his bag carefully. There was a page of looseleaf that had fallen under the sinks, and he reached for it, flipping it over curiously. Rhys paled.

In dark, jagged letters, the paper read, _MY ARM, ASSHOLE._

Rhys pulled out his iCoffin with trembling hands and dialed Vaughn, missing the buttons twice.


	2. Play It By Ear

“I’m telling you, it was trying to strangle me, Vaughn!” Rhys held up the guilty arm and pointed at it accusingly. “Like it was just--like it was trying to kill me or something! Like it had a mind of its own!”

They were sitting in the back of the library, by the old computers nobody used. Vaughn had cut Physical Deaducation after Rhys’s jumbled message and rushed him to a quiet space tucked between a cobwebby monitor and the Millard Gillmore biographies. He’d hovered nervously over him, one clawed hand rubbing his back, muttering awkward platitudes and waiting for Rhys to calm down.

“I’m sure it was just a glitch or something. I mean, messing with the laws of nature is kind of a big deal. Artificial life is rare even for monsters. There’s bound to be some bugs.” He was sitting next to Rhys now, pressed against him from knee to shoulder.

“I mean? Maybe? But I think I would’ve remembered my dad telling me my arm would try to _strangle_ me! _It strangled me, Vaughn._ ”

“Okay,” Vaughn said, slowly. “So what can we do? Should we call your dad?” 

Rhys sighed heavily, slumping further onto Vaughn. “No, no. He already worries about this stuff too much. Keeps thinking he screwed up with me. I mean, it was just a _little_ strangling. It probably won’t happen again, right?” Rhys laughed. It wasn’t very convincing. “Even though I have this...note...”

“Note? What note?”

Rhys reached into his bag, frowning. “I mean, I just said it was probably nothing, right? I was pretty,” he wiggled his hand, “you know?”

Vaughn gave him a skeptical look, leaning over to look into his bag. “Who would give you a note?” He looked worried. “Did someone find out about the beer run?”

“Ha, no. Just.” Rhys’s face fell further when his hand found a crumpled up piece of paper. He pulled it out gingerly, smoothing out the wrinkles. “This.” Cringing, he held it up to Vaughn. The letters were just as jagged as when he last saw them, and seemed even more foreboding with a witness.

“Wait wait wait. _‘My arm’?_ Who--did your arm write this?” Vaughn’s voice rose in pitch. “That doesn’t make any sense. Isn’t it hooked into your brain? How can your arm be--is it _sentient?_ Rhys, your arm can’t be sentient. It’s attached to you, that’d be like slavery. And--and kidnapping!”

“I mean, I don’t know if it’s--my brain’s kind of cobbled together but--it’s not kidnapping! It’s my arm. _Mine_ .” Rhys held his right hand to his chest protectively. “And I mean - it’s not like we ripped it off some guy checking off his grocery list! I’m--every part of me is from someone who already _died_ , Vaughn. They can’t be sentient if they’re dead.” He clutched his head, running his fingers through his hair. “Which is why this is completely _insane_ , but even if it’s trying to kill me or whatever it’s _my_ arm. Okay?”

Vaughn raised his hands placatingly. “Okay. I still think it might be worth it to talk to your dad--”

“Not happening,” Rhys said flatly. “I don’t need to give him another bullet point for his Things-to-Do-Better-Next-Time List. I can handle this.” He flexed his right hand just to feel the muscles work. “I’ll keep an eye on it, just in case.”

Vaughn pulled back from Rhys just enough to make eye contact and held it. “Me and Yvette are here for you, Rhys. We’ll help you until we can figure out what’s happening and how to fix it.” He leaned back into Rhys and tucked a heavy stone wing protectively around his shoulders. The weight of it grounded him, and he sat there for a moment, just basking in Vaughn’s presence. At least he could count on his friends to always have his back, no matter what happened.

Vaughn broke the silence. “So, are we still good for the beer run because I’ve already paid Sasha and Fiona half, and I don’t think I’m going to get a refund.”

Rhys laughed but quickly schooled his expression into a flat look. “Yeah, Vaughn, I’m good to go for the beer run. Thanks for the concern, man.”

Vaughn patted him on the back, withdrawing his wing. It kind of hurt. “Any time.”

 

Over the next two days, Rhys caught himself staring at his right hand, watching the way the tendons flexed every time he clenched it. He’d stop when Yvette or Vaughn gave him a worried look, but his eyes would find their way back regardless, following the lines of his palm and the curve of his fingernails.

At night Rhys pulled the covers over his head, examining the scars across his knuckles and the strange calluses over his palm, relics of his arm’s previous owner. The way his elbow bent just a little to the left. His left hand had neither scars nor calluses, and in the dreamy intimacy of the flashlight at night, the blankness was a comfort.

There were no more strangling incidents or numbness and as Wednesday approached, Rhys relaxed his vigilance over his arm. It was probably just the final death throes of the limb’s old life, the last bit of spark expelling itself. It was probably nothing.  

 

“This is really happening,” Vaughn said, gleeful. The flickering torchlight made the crumbling steps down into the catacombs treacherous, but Vaughn was nearly skipping down the stairs in his excitement. “You know, I was really nervous at first, but now that we’re actually doing this I feel _awesome!_ ” He fist-pumped the air. “ _I can feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins_.”

“This _is_ pretty cool,” Rhys laughed, picking his way more carefully down the stairs with Yvette. “I feel so weird. But a good weird?”

“You're a rule-breaker, Rhys,” Yvette said. She was wearing sneakers for once, and the absence of the click-clacking of her heels weirded Rhys out to no end. “You’re getting a thrill from doing something you’ve been explicitly banned from doing. I knew you were a fun guy right when I first saw you.”

“A _thrill_ ,” Rhys said, breathlessly. It wasn’t like he’d been a goody-two-shoes. He had this thing with his grades, sure, but he still texted in class and gathered blackmail material on his opponents in the student government. Breaking into the restricted parts of the catacombs, at night, for the express purpose of illegally obtaining human booze, was just significantly more badass.

“Don’t pass out from excitement just yet,” Yvette said, reaching the bottom landing. “This is a big risk we’re taking. Monsters don’t just walk into the human world. There’s not an official border or anything, but that doesn’t stop people from blaming us for every little thing that goes wrong. Some kid last year almost died because someone framed him for vandalism.”

“What kind of vandalism? Did he destroy a building or something?” Rhys’s enthusiasm wavered a bit. Murder seemed like an extreme reaction.

“Someone spraypainted a little skull on the New Salem school. And then the kid was strapped to a medieval execution machine.”

Rhys came to a sudden stop. “You’re joking."

“Nope,” Yvette said.

“It was this whole thing,” Vaughn confirmed from down the hall. “That’s why we hired Fiona and Sasha. They’ve gone into the human side of town dozens of times without getting caught. They’re practically professionals.” Shrugging, he added, “Well, as much a professional as you can be in high school.” He stopped and turned on his heel to let them catch up. “Minimum risk for maximum profit. I ran the numbers.”

“You always do,” Yvette said, shaking her head fondly.

They continued down the hall, shoulder-by-shoulder. Rhys was considerably more nervous--hunched over, eyes darting around. Vaughn kept letting out whoops of excitement, and Yvette kept an even stride, all business.

They finally arrived at the meeting spot, marked by an alcove tucked into the wall. Sasha and Fiona were already there, Fiona rifling through an old backpack and Sasha standing sentry against the wall.

“About time you got here,” Sasha said, pushing off the wall. “We were about to leave without you.”

“We are exactly on time,” Rhys said indignantly. He grabbed Vaughn’s wrist, checking his watch. “Down to the minute.”

“I don’t know,” Fiona said, looking up with a sly smile. “I think we should be charging you a late fee.”

“Yeah, no,” Vaughn said, crossing his arms firmly. “You’re already getting some of the beer.”

“Fair,” Fiona said. She shrugged, then upended the backpack and spilled its contents onto the floor. “Anyway, if that’s going to happen, we need to put together our,” she paused, spreading her hands dramatically, “disguise. And by our disguise I mean your disguise, Yvette.”

“What do you mean, my disguise? Are you not coming?”

“Are you kidding? Do you think any of us can pass as human?” Fiona gestured at all of them in turn. She had copper rivets crossing her right eyebrow, Sasha had a coat of fur and a mouthful of fangs, Rhys was a jumble of stitches and skin tones, and Vaughn was a walking statue with wings. Yvette just had snakes for hair. With those covered, the weirdest thing about her would be that she was wearing sunglasses at night.

“Point,” Yvette said, shrugging her shoulders. She walked up to the pile of odds and ends, and after a moment of hemming and hawing, came back to the group with a newsie cap in her hand. “Why do you have so many of these, anyway?”

“I like hats,” Fiona said flippantly, gathering them back into her bag. She dug around in her coat pockets for a moment before pulling out a piece of plastic. “And here’s your ID. Looks like you and everything.”

“Uh, thanks.” Yvette took it and turned it over in her hands, examining the picture.

Rhys leaned over her shoulder, and yeah, that was uncanny. It was basically Yvette with, well, _hair_ for hair. “Where did you get this again?”

Fiona laughed, saying, “You don’t want to know,” at the same time Sasha blurted out, “Photoshop!” They looked at each other for a moment, glaring.

Fiona suddenly smiled, clapping her hands together. “Anyway, we’ve got everything we need, so it’s time to set out. We’ll just take the rest of our payment before we go.”

“I’m _pretty_ sure you’re supposed to get that when we’ve already got the beer,” said Rhys. “So you don’t ditch us.”

“We would never--”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Vaughn said. “Which is why you’re not getting anything until after we’re back here with the goods.”

“‘The goods’ Vaughn, really?” Yvette gave him a _look_.

“I-It’s what you call them,” Rhys defended his friend. “‘The goods’. It’s--it’s a thing. A cool thing.”

“Sure,” Yvette said skeptically. She’d finally gotten the last of her snakes tucked into her hat, so they set off for the exit to the human side of town. Rhys’s nerves rose as they proceeded, crossing the marker for the human side of the catacombs and the sign pointing towards the exit. Just a few more feet, it said.

“You know, maybe this isn’t the best idea,” Rhys said nervously, voice cracking. He looked at the shadows, expecting someone to leap out at them with handcuffs at any moment.

“C’mon, Rhys, I already paid half,” Vaughn said. When Rhys stayed silent, Vaughn turned towards him. “Uh, Rhys?”

He heard the words, but he didn’t register them. His arm had gone numb again. “Oh no,” he said. It was more a whimper than actual words, but the sentiment was there. Because holy shit, his arm was numb.

“Did you say something?” Sasha asked, turning back to where he’d frozen. She saw his face and frowned. “Are you alright? You’re looking kind of pale.”

“I can’t feel my arm,” he said lowly, forcing the words through teeth clenched in panic.

“Is something wrong?” Vaughn was even further ahead and hadn’t heard.

“I can’t feel my arm!” Rhys said again, loudly. His right arm smacked him across the face. “Ow!” It hit him again and he grabbed it by the wrist, wrestling it away from him. “Quit it!”

“I thought you said it wouldn’t happen again!” Vaughn said, rushing over.

“Is this the arm thing?” Yvette asked, looking worried. “It doesn’t look like it’s trying to kill you.”

She wasn’t wrong. It was just smacking the shit out of him. It hurt, but at least he probably wasn’t going to get his neck broken.

“I mean,” Rhys said, holding it away from his face, “I’m not sure it trying to hurt me is much better!” The hand grabbed onto his own and yanked on it, sending him stumbling into a pillar. “Ow ow ow!” He tried to wrench his hand away, but his rogue arm was stronger than his loyal one. It tugged him to the right, then forward again, around the pillar.

“Is this normal?” Fiona asked, backing away slowly. Sasha looked alarmed, ears lying flat.

The arm kept tugging him to the right, throwing him off-balance and into pillars. It was remarkably strong for something working without any leverage. Rhys braced himself against one of the pillars and tried to trap the arm between his body and the stone, but it wiggled free and went for his face, hooking two fingers into his nostrils and tugging hard to the right, forcing his head around and sending him stumbling forward again.

Vaughn grabbed the misbehaving arm, trapping the hand between his own large stone claws and gently removing its fingers from Rhys’s nose. The arm struggled, but was unable to escape his grip. “How do we stop it?” he asked, panicked.

“I don’t know! It just _stopped_ last time.”

“So we have to wait?” Yvette was safely out of grabbing distance but kept a careful eye on the writhing hand.

“I guess?”

Fiona spoke up. “I’ve got some rope in my bag, we can tie it to you or something until that,” she gestured at Rhys, “stops happening.”

The arm fell limp in Vaughn’s grip.

Vaughn looked at it warily. “Is it over?”

Rhys squinted at his arm suspiciously. “Maybe? I still can’t feel it. The feeling came back before.” The arm continued to look innocent.

“This has only happened to you once, right? Maybe this is normal,” Yvette said.

“There’s nothing normal about this, Yvette!” Rhys said tightly. “People’s arms don’t just try to strangle them.”

“What I meant is, it might not be dangerous.”

“Might not be dangerous,” Rhys echoed. “Might not be dangerous? This is the _definition_ of danger!”

“Well, it did stop,” Vaughn said hesitantly. “Maybe it’s really over?” Vaughn loosened his grip on the hand a bit. He stared at it for a moment, but it didn’t twitch. Vaughn looked at Rhys for permission, and Rhys grimaced but nodded, silently. He let go and the arm swung into place against Rhys’s side.

Rhys tried to move it, to flex his fingers or exercise _some_ control over it, but it just hung there. Was this his life now? What if the feeling never came back and he had to go around with one semi-homicidal arm?

Sasha broke the silence. “Is it just me or did it look like it was trying to drag him somewhere?”

The arm suddenly jumped to life and gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

They all screamed and jerked back. Rhys lost his balance and fell on his ass, the arm flailing on the way down. The arm didn’t make it easy for him to get back up to his feet, desperately making more thumbs-up motions and pointing off to the right in the direction it had been dragging Rhys.

“Is everyone else seeing this?” Vaughn said. “Tell me everyone else is seeing this.”

“Okay, I don’t know anything about your biology, but that seems weird,” Fiona said.

“Do you think so, Fiona? Do you _really_ think so?” Rhys said, nearly shouting. “I could have sworn people’s arms turn on them all the time!”

The hand set its index finger against Rhys’s lips, shushing him. Rhys sputtered indignantly. “You can’t shush me, you, you _arm._ God, I’m talking to my arm and my arm can hear me this is insane.”

“At least it seems...friendly?” Sasha said cautiously. “I think it wants us to follow it. Maybe it wants to show us something.”

The arm did another thumbs up. When they still didn’t move, it started making shoo-ing motions.

“What could Rhys’s sentient arm possibly have to show us? It’s an arm. It doesn’t have eyes,” Yvette said sensibly.

“I mean, it can hear us,” Vaughn said. “What’s stopping it from seeing us? It’s already a scientific impossibility.”

“Hey,” Rhys said, waving his left arm to get their attention, “Hi, yeah, it tried to strangle me, so maybe we shouldn’t trust it?” he said, words dripping with sarcasm. He was clearly the only sane one in the room.

The hand flipped him off.

“That is _rude._ And uncalled for.” Nothing in Rhys’s very short life had prepared him for getting sassed by his own arm.

“Well, you did just deny its personhood. I mean, just imagine being stuck to you. I’d want to leave too,” Fiona was grinning now, clearly becoming more comfortable with the idea of a sentient arm. And the thing wasn’t, seeing as he’d had full control of it until a couple days ago.

The arm made a finger gun at a pillar, apparently mistaking it for Fiona.

“Yeah, _that’s_ something that knows where it’s going.” Yvette was the only person Rhys could rely on, clearly.

“Okay, but _hypothetically,_ ” Vaughn said, “what do we lose by following it? We’re already breaking a bunch of rules. The catacombs are pretty safe, usually. It can’t hurt to check.”

Rhys gestured angrily with his left arm at the direction the right arm was straining towards. “I mean, ‘ _usually’._ How are we sure it isn’t going to drag us into a pit full of spikes or something? Even _I_ know that there’s a bunch of random dangerous stuff down here. I mean, have you seen the roller maze track?”

Vaughn opened his mouth to argue, but Sasha beat him to it. “...Does anyone see Fiona?”

“Holy shit, guys, come look at this!” The voice, of course, came from the hall Rhys had been explicitly warning everyone not to go down. Of course.

And of course everyone followed, himself included.

By the time Fiona came into view, she had let out several more exclamations along the lines of “Holy shit,” “Oh my god,” and “Is this even real?” Rhys thought she sounded way more cheerful than she should, and thought it harder when the source of her exclamations came into view.

It was an ear. An honest-to-god, severed human ear lying on the ground, blood crusted on one side. The hand pointed at it aggressively, toppling Rhys over onto the ground. He groaned, about to yell at the arm, but he made the mistake of opening his eyes. The ear was lying about an inch from the tip of his nose.

He screeched, scrambling backwards, and the arm rushed to grab it before it was pulled out of reach. “I’m touching it!” Rhys whined, leaning to the side as if he could get away from it. “I can’t feel it but I’m touching it oh my god this is so gross--”

“I don’t know, this is pretty awesome,” Fiona corrected, enjoying his pain.

“This is...weird.” Vaughn grimaced. “Why is--why is your arm taking it.”

The arm flailed a bit, twitching its fingers as if going to make a signal, but instead clenched steadfastly onto the ear. Rhys pulled at its grip, but it didn’t budge--he couldn’t bring himself to get his fingertips anywhere close to the ear. He may be made of dead people, but he didn’t usually stumble across random body parts in the middle of the _catacombs._ “Wait. Was someone murdered here? Am I holding evidence, because I really don’t want to be caught with a severed ear on the human side of town. I’ll go to _jail._ And be _executed._ ” This was a few steps above vandalism, wasn’t it? There was no telling what they’d do to him.

Yvette reached out toward Rhys. “I’m sure it’s nothing. I mean, one of the zombie students could have lost it, couldn’t they? On the...human side of the catacombs. In the restricted area. And it’s a bit too pink to be a zombie’s…”

“Really helping here, Yvette,” Rhys snapped back, curling his body as far away from his right hand as possible. It still wouldn’t let go of the severed ear.

Sasha suddenly stiffened, looking back the way they came. “Someone’s coming.”

“I have an _ear_ in my _hand_!” Rhys wailed. He looked for somewhere to hide, but it was just an open hallway until the exit. He scrambled behind a pillar just as the sound of footsteps reached his ears.

“Do I hear a troublemaking student?” A deep voice called. “A troublemaking student who’s running for student body president? And would be disqualified should their venture be brought to light?”

“Vasquez,” Rhys hissed.


	3. Nothing to Write Home About

 A full head of (fake) hair came into view as a the douchiest fishman in the world strode confidently around the corner.

“Oh, Rhys,” Vasquez said casually. “Is that,” he pointed at each of them in turn, muttering numbers under his breath, “four accomplices? Now, what operation did I just stumble into? Off to vandalize a school?”

Rhys’s right arm whacked his side impatiently. He scowled at the stupid thing, then trapped it against his side with his left hand. He leaned cautiously out from behind the pillar, leaving his right half out of view. “How do you know _I’m_ not the accomplice?”

Sasha rolled her eyes and hit him in the arm. “Look, Vasquez, what are you doing here?”

Vasquez straightened his lapels, leaning against the stone wall casually. “Oh, I was just... _strolling_ on by when I heard some hooligans screaming. Thought I’d check it out, you know. Can’t have rule-breakers on my grounds.”

“ _Y_ _our_ grounds? Elections aren’t over yet,” Vaughn pointed out, scowling.

Yvette crossed her arms. “And technically, we aren’t even on school grounds. This is the human side of the catacombs. Or did you not notice on your ‘stroll’?”

The arm struggled insistently. Rhys frowned and pushed it against the pillar. “You know, Vasquez, what _are_ you doing here? We’re pretty far away from the halfway point.” The hand managed enough wiggle room to hit him just underneath the ribs. He winced, but continued, wheezing. “I-I bet you’re not doing anything too legal yourself.”

Vasquez frowned, eyes wandering to Rhys’s misbehaving arm, but looked up at his words. “Well,” he said defensively. “That doesn’t matter. What _matters_ is that I caught you on the human side of the catacombs, and I can just wander on back to Principal Vallory and tell her all about how I was _so shocked, ma’am_ to see such an _upstanding candidate_ stooping so low.”

Rhys stared at him. "So could I. I mean--” he ran his left hand through his hair, “you’re here too. On the wrong side of the catacombs. I could do the same exact thing.” He grimaced. “This isn’t doing anything for either of us, actually.”

Vasquez’s smarmy smile became strained. “I see you’re trying to make a point there Rhys, but that’s where you’re wrong.” The smile became weaker, folding under his bullshit deflection. How he thought he had any place in student politics was a mystery to Rhys. “I’ve got my eyes on you.” He made to leave, but Sasha grabbed his arm, holding him in place.

“Not so fast.” She dug her claws in. Vasquez started sweating. “You were probably on your way to the liquor store, weren’t you? That manhole up there opens up right next to it. And last time I checked, you weren’t 21, or a human, no matter how much you try to fool yourself.”

“Part werewolf,” Vasquez protested, touching his hair piece.

“ _And_ ,” Sasha continued, “If you tell Vallory, you’ll be out of the running for good. You might even get expelled. So we keep quiet, you keep quiet, and nothing will happen to you.” Sasha let go, smiling. All of her fangs were showing. “Sound good?”

Vasquez nodded and scurried off, hiding his quick steps with a straight back. He vanished around the corner, and Rhys finally stepped away from the pillar. “Thanks,” he said. “I mean I definitely had that, but thanks.”

Sasha rolled her eyes on her way over to Fiona, who was holding up a hand for a high-five. Sasha accepted the offer.

Rhys was about to maybe go in for one too, but his right arm stayed steadfastly out in front of him. It couldn’t seem to pick a direction, but generally gave the impression of yelling at them to move it, already. He scowled down at it, and it once again tugged, this time back the way they came.

“So...no beer then?” Yvette asked, smiling awkwardly.

 

“I can’t believe you made me pay the rest of the fee,” Vaughn said.

Fiona fanned the cash with her thumb, counting the bills. “Just be glad I didn’t charge you extra for Vasquez showing up.”

They were sitting in a circle of desks in a darkened classroom, moonlight filtering in through the windows. As Vaughn and Fiona discussed finances, Rhys was scowling down at his arm, which still refused to stay still. It tapped its fingers on the desk impatiently, periodically reaching over to feel that the severed ear was still there. “Just calm down, will you?” He didn’t like the reminder that he’d been hijacked.

It flicked him on the knee.

“Feisty,” Yvette said. She was slowly pulling each snake out from under her hat. They gave little hisses of thanks as they were freed from the confinement.

“Should we address the severed elephant in the room?” Sasha asked.

“No,” Rhys said. “We’re going to ignore it and hope it goes away.”

The arm gestured violently at him, and Rhys leaned away with a yelp.

“That looks like something a homicidal arm would do!” Rhys said. “Thanks for making my point for me.”

“It’s not very bright, is it?” Yvette said. The arm flipped her off several times.

“Well, it’s probably leeching off whatever little brain Rhys has, so that’s not helping,” Sasha said.

“Can you lay off, please? I’m having a hard enough day without comments from the peanut gallery.”

“You’re right, Rhys,” Yvette said. “I’m tired and I still have homework. And I never got my booze. So, arm. What do you want?”

It threw up its hand in frustration, and Rhys flinched to the side just enough to avoid it.

“I think I’ve got an old ouija board somewhere,” Sasha said. “We could use that.”

It made another frustrated gesture, clearly unsatisfied. Rhys groaned. “God, ugh, fine, you whiner. Gimme a second, I’ve got an idea.” He reached into his backpack and pulled out the same piece of paper the arm had written on earlier. No use in wasting it. He placed a pencil next to the hand, and it fumbled around for a second before finally gripping it properly. “Okay. What is it?”

The pencil dragged across the desk before finally finding the paper. The letters were sloppy, but legible. _About time._

“Well, maybe this would have happened earlier if you hadn’t tried to _kill me_ ,” Rhys said.

_Waaaaah waaaaaah, poor little baby. Heaven forbid anything scary happens to you. You comfortable, princess? Got your little toesies painted--_

Rhys yanked the paper out from under the pencil. “If you’re going to be a jerk about your murder attempt then you don’t get to talk.”

The hand reached for the paper and yanked it back. _Fine._

“Hey, wait,” Vaughn said, coming out of his financial battle, “are you talking to it?”

Fiona leaned over to stare at Rhys’s desk. “Looks like it,” she said, pointing at the paper.

 _Nice of you to join us,_ the hand wrote. _Look, I’m going to be honest with you. I’m in a bit of a bind here.  And you guys,_ it gestured around the circle, _are the only ones who can help me._

“Why would we help you?” Rhys asked. “You _tried to strangle me._ ”

_Alright, that’s my bad. And I’m really sorry. In my defense, I was pretty disoriented there for a while._

“I can see how sudden sentience would make someone homicidal,” Fiona said.

_Nothing sudden about it, cupcake. I’ve been sentient longer than you kids have been alive, judging by your whiny teenager voices._

“What do you mean, you’ve been sentient? You just became sentient like three days ago,” Vaughn said.

_There’s a person behind this arm, kid._

“Uh, yeah. Me,” Rhys said.

_That’s right. You’re the one who stole my arm._

“Hey, wait a second,” Rhys argued. “I didn’t _steal_ it! It’s--it’s my arm!” There were vague feelings of possessiveness, but it was hard to put into words. As it was, the arm ignored his totally convincing argument, not even pausing in its writing. Rhys wanted to cross _his_ arms, but had to settle for a scowl.

 _And I had it first. You’ve got a responsibility here. You see, I ran into some trouble a while back, and everything just went,_ the arm paused for effect, _to pieces. Literally. You’ve got my arm, obviously. And my ear, now, got no idea how that ended up in some sewer, but hey. One second I’m in Vegas closing a deal, next second I’m a severed head in a dumpster._

“You know, that sounds like a personal problem,” Rhys said.

Sasha smacked him in the shoulder. “He’s kind of a dick,” yeah, Rhys was sore over the whiny teenager comment too, “but maybe he’s a nice dick. We can at least hear him out.” Fiona snorted and her sister rolled her eyes in disgust, moving on. “So, how are you still alive, then? Are you a zombie or something?” Sasha asked, frowning down at the paper.

 _Completely human,_ the hand assured. _And that you even asked probably means that you’re not._

“No,” Vaughn said slowly. “But if your head’s in a dumpster and you’re still talking -- writing -- to us, then, I mean, you’re probably not either.”

The hand stilled again, then pressed the pencil back down. _Ha, no. No. I just have really good genes. They don’t call me Handsome Jack for nothing._

“Handsome Jack?” Yvette mouthed silently, one eyebrow raised skeptically. Vaughn shrugged uncertainly.

“I hate to break it to you, but that’s not how genes work,” Fiona said. “Not unless you’re, I don’t know, part zombie or something.”

_Yeah, look, princess, I don’t have time for this. I’m sick of floating in garbage and you kids are going to be the ones to help me._

“Uh, excuse me?” Rhys’s mouth twisted. “I don’t really see why we should. You strangled me, remember? _Why should we help you?_ ”

_500,000 smackaroos._

“I’m in,” Yvette said immediately. “Glad that’s settled.” Rhys spluttered at her as Fiona and Sasha chimed in with their approval.

“So, is this 500k each or all together?” Vaughn asked, considering. Rhys turned towards him, eyes watering, and Vaughn raised his hands. “Kidding, kidding!”

Rhys narrowed his eyes. He totally wasn’t kidding.

“No, seriously. I mean--remember a few days ago, in the library…? I’m not sure about this either.”

“For what it’s worth,” Yvette joked, “If he strangles you again we can cut the deal off.” Despite her joking tone, she smiled at him sincerely.

Vaughn nodded and directed his attention to the paper, scrutinizing it carefully. “So, why did you hurt Rhys?”

_I panicked, okay? Woke up in a strange dumpster, no limbs, no torso, no nothing. But then I start getting this feeling in my arm again. I move it around a little and it’s stuck to some other guy? Maybe I jumped the gun, fine, but can you really blame me? What really matters is that it’s not happening again. Scout’s honor, I swear._

“He was a scout, Rhys,” Sasha said. She gave him a bright smile, fangs poking cutely over her bottom lip. “Come on, Rhys. Think about it. All that money could go straight into your college fund.”

“Ugh, fine!” Rhys threw his hand up in the air. Considering he was only made two months ago, his father didn’t really have much of one going. And Sasha was really cute, and yeah, he was also a greedy bastard. He poked his rogue arm--Jack. “But you’re going in a cast.”

Vaughn shot him a concerned look, but turned back to the paper, shifting uncomfortably. “So... Where did you say you were? There’s a lot of dumpsters in the world.”

Jack pumped Rhys’s fist in the air, jerking Rhys backwards into his chair.

_Kiddos, we’re going to Las Vegas!_


End file.
